


Ink My Skin

by hoechlinanddylan



Series: The Boy of Many Words [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, First Kiss, M/M, Stiles is rambly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2016-07-19
Packaged: 2018-06-07 22:27:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6827722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoechlinanddylan/pseuds/hoechlinanddylan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On your 18th birthday, the first words your soulmate will ever say to you gets tattooed onto your skin in their handwriting. Stiles is not at all concerned. Not at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Stiles knew what was happening as soon as he felt the pain. They never warn you about the pain; all they talk about is the words.

 _The words, Stiles,_ his dad had said. _The most important words you’ll ever, uh, see._

 _Mine says, “Can I take your order?”_ His therapist had laughed. _I went into every fast food place within five miles of my town that night, before I found her at an Olive Garden two weeks later._

 _I knew it was Allison before the word came up,_ Scott had told him, dreamily. _It just enforced what I already knew._  

Two months ago the word, “Thanks” had popped up on Scott’s chest. It took him a full day to realize that it was referring to Allison’s reply after Scott had loaned her a pencil on her first day of school. 

But right now, Stiles could care less about what the words said. All he felt was a searing hot pain scorching down his side, starting at the bottom of his armpit and ending on his hipbone. What will his soulmate do? Recite a sonnet?

Stiles groaned and managed to roll over to see his clock. 12:01 am. April 8th.

 _Happy, fucking, Birthday to me,_ he thought, bitterly.

The pain only got worse in retaliation, until he could hardly breathe.

He was really starting to hate his soulmate.

After an hour of muffled groans and spontaneous twitching, the pain became a dull throbbing, and then stopped altogether. He knew his dad was pacing outside the door. He had told him not to come in no matter what happened. Stiles wanted a few minutes alone with his new tattoo, just in case his soulmate turned out to be someone he already knew.

God, he hoped it wasn’t Greenberg.

Stiles lay on his side, staring at the ceiling. All he had do was get up, walk to the full length mirror hanging from his closet door, and he would see the first words his soulmate would ever say to him. For years he had wanted the ink he would discover on his 18th birthday to say the words, “Um, what are you looking at, weirdo?”, but he had long since accepted that Lydia Martin wasn’t his soulmate. Besides, she had made that claim with Jackson six months ago.

Stiles sighed and slowly rolled off his bed. He stared at his reflection in the mirror and took a deep breath. He peeled his shirt off and turned his head to read the words written down his side and black, cursive letters. It wasn’t easy.

_**What the hell are you doing here? This is private property.** _

Stiles blinked.

The good news: He didn’t remember anyone ever saying that to him, so it wasn’t anyone he already knew.

More good news: The writing of the tattoo shows a bit of the personality of the speaker. So, pretty writing equals pretty soulmate? Stiles thinks yes.

The bad news: It didn’t seem like he and his soulmate would get off to a good start. Actually, it looked like a really bad start.

But, the tattoo doesn’t lie! And as much as Stiles hated to admit it, he was actually super stoked. Some people didn’t get tattoos at all, which meant that their destined soulmate had died prematurely, or will just never come in contact with them. Which really blows.

There was a tentative knock on the door. “Stiles?” his dad called softly. “Can I come in now?”

“Yeah, it’s okay now,” Stiles answered, lightly touching the still tender darkened skin.

The door opened and his dad paused in the doorway before coming to stand next to Stiles in the mirror. They both stared at the tattoo, heads tilted. 

“I can’t even read that.”

“It says, ‘What the hell are you doing here? This is private property’. It’ll be a real conversation starter, I can tell you that much,” Stiles told him. 

Sheriff Stilinski chuckled. “I mean it’s not that bad. I’ve seen worse,”

“Says the man with, ‘Wow, your smile is breathtaking,’ written on his bicep,” Stiles says, poking at his dad’s arm. “Not everyone can be so lucky.”

The Sheriff smiled, rubbing at his tattoo fondly. “Yeah, I know.” He looked at Stiles. “Your mom would’ve loved to be here for this. She talked about this moment a lot.”

Stiles swallowed. “I know, dad. I miss her, too.” He took one last look at his new marking and sighed. “Hopefully, I’ll meet them sooner rather than later. I don’t want to end up waiting fifty years like our neighbors.”

“Ben and Mary are happy, Stiles.”

“They got married when they were in their seventies, dad. Their seventies! I don’t have that kind of patience.”

Sheriff Stilinski sighed. “Don’t I know it.” He clapped his son’s shoulder on his way out of the room. “Get some sleep. You’ve got a big day tomorrow. Or today, rather.”

“Oooo. Movies and bowling with Scott, Danny, and Isaac. I’m gonna need to be well-rested for that one,” he said, climbing into his bed.

His dad shook his head. “’Night, Stiles. Happy Birthday.”

“Thanks. ‘Night, dad.”

Stiles stared at the ceiling. He would give it a month. After that, he was trespassing on every private property within a ten mile radius of Beacon Hills for a chance to meet his soulmate. One month, dammit.

Turns out all he needed were three days. 

 

* * *

 

“Scott, if you had a death wish, all you had to do was say so. I could’ve run you over a couple of times with my Jeep,” Stiles said, trying to navigate his way through the dark forest without tripping over roots for the third time. 

“Relax, Stiles,” Scott replied from a few feet ahead. “I told you I’m just looking for Allison’s blazer. She dropped it somewhere out here a few days ago and I told her I would get it for her.”

Stiles scoffed. “And you couldn’t wait until daylight to go scavenging for lost clothing items?" 

“I was supposed to find it for her yesterday, but I forgot. Now she needs it for some college interview tomorrow morning,” Scott explained patiently, heading towards a cave about fifteen feet away.

Stiles rolled his eyes and bent over to avoid hitting a low hanging branch. “And the princess couldn’t get the stupid blazer herself?” 

“You’re the one who wanted to come with me.” 

“You really think I would let you roam the woods at night by yourself? You, the asthmatic?”

“I haven’t had an attack in years, Stiles.”

“Yeah, well…” Stiles trailed off and stopped walking. He hadn’t ever been this far into the woods. It was yards off the hiking trail and the trees were much closer together here. The cave Scott had stopped in front of was small but deep, and he could hear the sound of the river a ways off. 

“What were you guys even doing all the way out here?” he asked, looking up at the night sky between the tops of the trees. When he received no reply, he looked over at Scott, who had stopped to smirk at him. “Ew, you’re gross. You ever heard of bedrooms? Motel rooms? The back of a freaking car? I mean anything is better than a dingy cave in the middle of the woods, Scott. Have some decency.”

Scott just chuckled and ducked into the cave opening. Stiles sighed. “I’ll just be out here, then. Waiting. In the dark.” He leaned against a nearby tree, crossed his arms, and closed his eyes, letting the warm night breeze flow through his hair. It was actually kinda nice.

“What the hell are you doing here? This is private property.” 

Stiles froze, eyes still closed. He didn’t want to open them. Couldn’t open them. Was he dreaming? He had to be dreaming. Because that was most definitely a guy’s voice. Guy as in dude. Boy. Man. Undeniably masculine. An undeniably masculine voice saying the words that were forged down his side. The words specifically reserved for his first meeting with his destined soulmate.

He slowly opened his eyes.

Oh. God.

Holy hotness, Batman.

Stiles blinked. For once in his life, he was at a loss for words. All he could think about was how stupidly attractive this guy was. 

Leather jacket. Dark jeans. White t-shirt stretched over a broad chest. Dark hair. Olive skin. Weird nomad eyebrows. Full stubble over a strong jaw. Eyes the color of…(what even was that color?)...angrily staring at him from six feet away.

Stiles’ supposed Greek god soulmate asked, raising one of his caveman eyebrows,as if saying, 'Did you not hear me?' with his angry model face.

Stiles inhaled sharply, realizing he had been holding his breath for at least thirty seconds. 

He cleared his throat. “Oh, um, sorry, yeah, I heard you, sorry. No, uh, I didn’t know…we didn’t know…about the whole ‘private property’ thing. I mean, you don’t really have a gate or a fence or a sign that says ‘Keep Out” or anything. Which is something you should probably invest in for the future.”

Greek God Caveman had frozen solid in front of him but Stiles couldn’t seem to stop talking. “That way random teenagers won’t wander in and trespass on your so-called ‘private property’, looking for their friend’s girlfriend’s clothing items and such.” He gulped.

No response.

Stiles sighed, and stepped forward a foot, his heart hammering. “Look, I know this is weird. Because, surprise! We’re soulmates! And I…OH MY GOD DO YOU HAVE ALL OF THIS WRITTEN ON YOUR BODY SOMEWHERE?! I am so sorry, dude. That must have hurt like a bitch, didn’t it? Because I’m talking so…”

Stiles slapped his hand over his mouth, realizing what was happening. He closed his eyes. He wanted to apologize again but that would make the situation worse. But then again, would it? The tattoo was already on, but whatever Stiles said in that moment dictated what was written.

It was super trippy.

Stiles refused to say another word, his hand still across his mouth, and so he just stared at Greek God Caveman, beckoning him to say something with his eyes. He counted 40 Mississippi’s before the guy started to defrost.

G.G.C. cleared his throat. “This is weird,” he mumbled, probably just to break the curse.

Stiles exhaled. “Understatement of the millennium.” There was an extremely awkward pause until Scott emerged from the cave.

“Stiles, I couldn’t find…” he stopped and looked at G.G.C. “Oh. Hey.”

Stiles waved a hand between the two of them. “Uh, this is Scott, fellow trespasser. Scott, this is…”

“Derek.”

Stiles resisted the urge to smile, because how perfect was that name? “Yeah, okay, this is Derek. My, um, soulmate.”

Scott’s jaw dropped and he stared at Derek and then back at Stiles. “He said the thing?” 

“He said the thing, Scott.”

“Wow….congrats.” 

“Scott.”

“I mean, honestly. You’re really good-looking, dude.”

 _“Scott.”_  

“Uh…thanks?” Derek glanced at Stiles, and then back to Scott. “If you guys are done committing misdemeanors, I would like to go back home now.”

Stiles scoffed. “You’re leaving? We’ve just met!”

Derek raised an eyebrow. Stiles was beginning to think this was a common thing. “Did you expect a proposal?”

“Well…no, but…” 

“Then, I’m leaving.” He turned away. “I expect you off my property within the next ten minutes or I’m calling the police,” he called over his shoulder, disappearing into the darkness of the trees.

Stiles stared after him, dumbfounded. That was not how soulmate meetings were supposed to go. Sure, he had heard that most of them were awkward, but both parties were usually eager to start getting to know each other. Dates were made. Phone numbers were exchanged. All he got from Derek was a threat and a cold stare. He didn’t even know his last name.

Maybe a mistake was made somewhere.

Maybe the mystical tattoo destiny gods meant to hook up Stiles with Derek’s twin sister or something. Stiles thought about what a nicer, female version of Derek would look like, and he was pleased with the image. Although, there was something about that stubble and manly strut that Stiles was definitely okay with. 

Beyond okay with, actually.

“Hey, buddy,” Scott called to him gently, putting a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay. Maybe he’s just nervous and doesn’t know what to do with his feelings.”

Stiles nodded. “Probably. He seems like the emotionally constipated type, now that I think about it.” They started walking back towards the trail. “He didn’t even give me his phone number, though.”

Scott laughed. “Yeah, well. At least you know where he lives.”

Stiles froze. Oh my god, he did. He knew where Derek lived. He could come back whenever he wanted. Maybe woo him with gifts or flowers or whatever Greek God Cavemen were into romantically. This was brilliant.

“Stiles,” Scott warned. “Whatever you’re thinking, just please don’t freak out your soulmate more than you already have, okay? It’d probably make things worse for him if he found you begging outside his door everyday.”

“Psshht. What? I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Stiles replied innocently.

“Stiles.”

“Scott.”

Scott sighed and continued walking. “Why do I even bother?”

“I honestly don’t know anymore, bro.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Pssst, Scott.”

Heavy sigh. “What, Stiles?”

“Do you think you could steal kitty litter from Deaton’s office?”

“This is the last time I’m going to tell you, but once again I don’t think Derek’ll appreciate a cat on his doorstep, even if you bought him all the supplies to go with it. No matter how cute it is.”

Stiles groaned and Mr. Harris’ eyes narrowed toward him. Stiles mimed zipping his lips and went back to balancing chemical equations until he could sense the teacher’s attention elsewhere. Then he leaned forward again, chin practically on his best friend’s shoulder. “Come on, Scott,” he whispered. “You’ve shot down every idea I’ve had.”

“Yeah, ‘cuz they all would’ve gotten you a restraining order.”

Stiles scoffed. “Yeah, my dad wouldn’t have allowed that.” Silence. “Okay, yeah he would but _come on_. You’re telling me a mariachi band wouldn’t go over well.”

“That’s exactly what I’m telling you.”

“And six dozen roses? Who doesn’t like flowers?”

“Stiles, you wanted a man dressed up in a diaper to deliver them.”

“Cupid! It’s Cupid! What’s more romantic than Cupid and roses?!”

“I don’t know, Stiles…..”

 _“Fine,”_ Stiles grumbled. “What do you suggest, Mr. Buzzkill?”

Another sigh. Stiles was getting tired of this apathy from the guy who forced him to write a six-minute song for Allison once Scott discovered they were soulmates. Stiles stayed up all night trying to find a rhyme for “dimples”. Stiles flicked the back of Scott’s head in hostility.

“Ow! Ugh, look.” Scott turned a bit in his chair so Stiles could finally see his earnest, _I’m-Actually-Being-A-Good-Friend_ puppy dog eyes. It was a low blow. “If you _have_ to do anything right away…why don’t you just talk to him? Without any gimmicks or firecrackers…” Stiles perked up. “And NO you shouldn’t set off firecrackers anywhere near him, Stiles, I’m serious.” Stiles deflated. “Just, like, I dunno know? Be yourself? Get to know him? He seemed pretty lowkey, you know, like he’d appreciate the least amount of hullabaloo.”

“Hullabaloo? Really?”

Scott smiled, all dimply and adorable. It was disgusting, really. “It was on my word calendar for today.”

Stiles huffed, and then thought for a moment. He exhaled, sitting back in his chair. “You know, that was all really rational and wise for a guy that spelled Allison’s name out in chocolates on the football field, and then cried in the bathroom when it was all eaten by geese before she could see it.”

“Hey! I showed up an hour before school started to set that up,” he protested. “Stupid geese.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Stiles rolled his eyes, smiling at his best buddy. “So, you think I should just head over to his house. With nothing.”

Scott shrugged. “I mean, you can bring a flower or something. ONE flower! To show him that you’re trying to ‘woo’ him, or whatever. But that’s it.”

Stiles bit his lip, nerves starting to simmer in his stomach. “Okay…yeah, okay. Fine. I’ll head over first thing right after class.”

“MR. STILINSKI!”

Stiles groaned. Well, right after detention.

 

* * *

 

Stiles’ was mildly terrified. Well, okay very terrified. But at least it was warranted. He had broken a few traffic laws driving to the flower shop after Mr. Harris refused to let him leave, even after the detention release bell rang. By the time he made it to the edge of the reserve and finally found the only inhabitable house in the forest, after wandering around aimlessly, the sun was about to set. He was slightly sweating, bouquet starting to crumple in his grip, heart racing as he slowly walked to the white washed door, on his way to woo a soulmate that didn’t want anything to do with him. A little terror was called for.

The house was lovely, large and rustic, with seemingly new installments. He wondered how many people lived here with Derek, or if he even had the right house. He couldn’t even entertain that thought for more than a second without getting the overwhelming urge to bolt off the premises.

He took a deep breath. “Okay, Stiles. You’re a man now. Let’s act like one.” He raised a shaking fist and firmly knocked on the door.

He waited, holding his breath. When no one came after 30 Mississippi’s, Stiles knocked again, confidence decreasing by the second. After a minute, Stiles sighed and turned around, heading down the porch steps. _So much for that_ , he thought.

Suddenly, he heard the door open behind him. “Stiles?”

Stiles froze, swallowed, turned back around…and almost fainted.

Derek was standing in the doorway, one hand holding a small towel, wearing black basketball shorts and a fitted white tank top, completely drenched in sweat, black hair sticking to his forehead and neck. The tank was cut in a way that showed off Derek’s pecs, heaving with the labor of his breathing, covered in an even coating of dark hair.

Stiles blinked rapidly, wondering if he had fallen asleep in detention and was only dreaming that the person matched to him by fate belonged on the cover of “Men’s Health and Fitness”.

“Uhh,” Stiles started brilliantly. He snapped his jaw shut and took a shaky breath. He smiled hesitantly. “Um, hello, Derek. I, um, I know you didn’t really….well, it seemed like….so, before….I brought, um…” Stiles stopped his stammering and closed his eyes, passing a hand over his face. He couldn’t do this. His hands were shaking, petals dropping to the floor, and Derek was looking at him like he was the most confusing riddle that he didn’t really care to understand, and Stiles was starting to think this was a bad idea. Derek made it pretty clear Saturday night that he didn’t want anything to do with him, so why did he think showing up at his house was going to change his mind. Derek probably wanted someone older, more his speed. Like, a Victoria’s Secret model, or something. Stiles should just go home. He should just turn around and go home and smother himself with his pillow. Scott would understand, and his father would forgive him eventually. The funeral service would probably be beautiful, and maybe Lydia would even shed a tear for his passing. He would leave a note, stating that Scott could have all of his video games and Allison could have all his books and Kira could have-

“Would you like to come in?” Derek interrupted his dive into insanity in a soft, low voice.

Stiles opened his eyes and saw Derek looking at him, eyebrows no longer grouchy, and a small smile on his face. Stiles nodded, wide-eyed, and watched as Derek pushed the door open further, stepping aside and making a grand sweeping gesture. Stiles’ feet automatically carried him back up the steps and through the door, his arm brushing past Derek’s thin-cloth covered abs. His heart stuttered.

The foyer to the house showcased a wide and winding staircase, drawing the eye up to the 20 ft tall ceilings. The walls were bare of any art or pictures, but somehow the house still felt cozy and lived in. To his right was a doorway to what Stiles could see was a large living room, but Stiles felt a steady hand land on the small of his back, leading him straight down the hallway. He valiantly tried to ignore how the hand seemed to burn through his shirt, warming his entire body, despite the air-conditioned chill of the house.

Stiles was led to a bright and open kitchen, filled with new appliances but Victorian style windows and crown molding. The only reason he knew that was because when he had caught the flu in 10th grade, the only thing that didn’t make his headache worsen was the HGTV weeklong marathon of Property Brothers. He still didn’t think Stephen and Gwen should’ve picked House #2 over House #3, but it was their life to ruin, not his.

“Would you like something to drink?” Derek asked politely, coming out from behind him toward the refrigerator.

“Um, water, please,” Stiles requested, gently scooting out a bar stool from the island to sit on. Derek grabbed two water bottles, immediately throwing one to Stiles, who, possessing approximately zero hand-eye coordination skills, promptly dropped it. Stiles heard Derek chuckle, as he retrieved the fallen beverage. “Thanks,” Stiles mumbled, blushing.

Derek jumped up to sit on the island next to him, guzzling at the bottle in his hand like he was parched. Stiles tried not stare at his throat as he swallowed. Or his chest. Or his arms, that were unfairly eye-level. He failed miserably.

“Are those for me?” Derek asked, once he had finally drained the plastic bottle and had set it aside.

“What?” Stiles asked, distractedly. Derek’s eyes dropped to Stiles’ hands, which were still clenching the forgotten bouquet. Stiles’ eyes snapped back up to see Derek smirking, an eyebrow raised, rainbow eyes sparkling. “Oh, uh yes!” Stiles bit his lip, and handed over the bouquet, which Derek accepted, hand brushing with Stiles’. “I was just gonna get one long-stemmed rose, because maybe a whole bouquet was too much for a first, uh, second meeting. But then….I didn’t know if you even liked roses, so then I thought about getting something else. But maybe you were allergic to something and I didn’t want my gift to you to be hives so I was just gonna get twelve different flowers, and you could throw out the ones you didn’t want. But _then_ , I thought maybe you were one of those people that were allergic to all types of pollen or chlorophyll or, like, nature in general. So, one of them is fake. Just in case.”

Derek just stared at him with either confusion or awe, or both, with a little bit of amusement thrown in there for good measure. “Thank you, Stiles,” he said eventually. “That was very thoughtful of you.” He sniffed the bouquet slightly and smiled. “I’m not allergic to anything other than bananas, but lilies are my favorite.”

Stiles sighed in relief. “Okay, great. So, you can just throw out the rest.”

Derek rolled his eyes at him, still smiling. “I’m not gonna throw any of them out, Stiles.” He hopped down off the island and reached up to one of the cabinets to grab of vase.

Stiles grinned, chest warming funnily. “Oh, okay then. Cool.”

Once Derek had put the bouquet in water and set it on the windowsill, arranging it so that the fake tulip was in the center, he came back over to the island, sitting in a barstool this time, right next to Stiles.

He propped his head up with his hand, turned so that his body was facing the younger boy. “So,” Derek began. “I feel like I need to apologize.”

Stiles frowned. “What for?”

“I got some….feedback, and it has come to my attention that maybe I was a bit standoffish Saturday night.”

Stiles just blinked at him, saying nothing.

Derek grinned. “You’re allowed to agree with me. It’s okay.”

Stiles smiled. “Well…I mean, I don’t blame you. It was all very sudden. Probably a shock, you know, to discover your soulmate is a scrawny teenager.”

Derek huffed. “One, you make it sound like I’m forty-”

“Are you not?” Stiles joked.

Derek glared at him, half-heartedly. “No, I’m not forty, Stiles.”

“Good to know.”

“ _Two_ …you don’t seem that scrawny.”

“Pffft. That’s ‘cuz you haven’t seen me naked.”

Derek lifted an eyebrow, a slow grin spreading across his beautiful face.

Stiles groaned, slapping a hand over his face to cover his blush. “Please, forget I said that.”

“No, no. Let’s talk about this, Stiles. Tell me more about how you look naked.”

“Please. I beg of you.”

“Like, was that an invitation? Should I be stripping you right now?”

“ _Derek._ ”

Derek laughed, and Stiles thought it was one of the most beautiful sounds he’d ever heard. “Anyway,” Derek said, still chuckling. “I wasn’t in shock because you were a “scrawny teenager,” as you so put it. It was just the opposite, actually.”

“The opposite?”

Derek nodded. “Yeah. I was wondering…how could someone so effortlessly beautiful and carefree…be designated just for me by Fate herself?”

Stiles’ heart stopped, caught off guard by Derek’s matter-of-fact yet awestricken tone. He couldn’t imagine what Derek could see in him- he didn’t think himself unattractive just….average- and yet he could tell that Derek was being 100% honest.

“Derek…” Stiles said softly, eyes prickling.

“But I know that I seemed like I didn’t care…or that I didn’t want you as my soulmate, which obviously isn’t the case,” Derek continued. “I was rude to you, and to your friend, and I’m sorry.”

Derek looked up at him from where he had been staring at his hands in his lap. Stiles took one look at his hazel eyes, wide and pleading, and immediately leaned across the small gap between them, crushing his lips to Derek’s.

It seemed like the world stopped: Stiles couldn’t hear anything other than twin heart beats, rapidly in sync; couldn’t feel anything other than Derek’s soft lips beneath his, prickly stubble underneath his hands, and a thrumming heat down his side, where his tattoo was etched. Derek sighed, opening his mouth slightly; just enough to deepen the kiss, making Stiles’ eyelashes flutter against his cheek.

They parted simultaneously, gazing at each other in wonder from an inch away, breath coming back to their lungs in tandem.

"I take it you forgive me?" Derek whispered, smirking. 

Stiles blinked. “Do you wanna go out sometime?” he blurted, still holding Derek’s face, thumbs caressing his cheekbones.

Derek laughed, making his eyes twinkle, and Stiles saw a gold halo in them, surrounded by a sea of green, blue, and grey, that he just wanted to get lost in.

“It would be my pleasure, Stiles,” Derek responded, pressing his forehead against his soulmate’s, greedily capturing his lips in another electrifying kiss.


End file.
